


the carpal tunnel of...

by forfree



Category: RPF - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fake Relationship, office stuff!!! hooty hoooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9315311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forfree/pseuds/forfree
Summary: Jordan is 23 years into his life and nobody will leave him alone- including his mother.His solution? Hire a girlfriend. He has the money for it, so what could go wrong?





	

“Ullman!”  


Jordan’s startled awake at the sound of someone shouting his name. He sits up and sees his CFO Sylvia standing at the end of the long conference table, snapping at him and chuckling.

“Had a good nap?” Sylvia asks. The other people in the meeting room laugh. “Feel free to join the group anytime.”

“Ha ha,” Jordan replies.

Now that he’s awake, he’s realizing how cold the room is; though he has his suit jacket on, the cold seems to settle onto him uncomfortably. He goes to lean on his elbow, but remembers that the gesture is rude, so he straightens up and tries to pay attention to what’s going on in the meeting. They’re going over shares, stocks, things like that. While Jordan wants to care, should care, he can’t focus.

“Jordan?” Sylvia asks expectantly. 

Jordan stands and clears his throat. “Thanks, Sylvia. Before I start, are there any questions?”

Silence. Jordan moves on. 

“Let’s throw some ideas around about how we can fix our problems with partner interactions.” 

Jordan passes out copies of an incident report, looking pointedly at his assistant Mark. The week before, he’d taken Mark along to a meeting with a business partner, and Mark had started to hit on their wife. Eventually, they somehow snuck off to the bathroom, and an altercation broke out shortly after.

“I have an idea. How about we don’t mix personal wants with business matters? Got any other ideas, Mark?” Jordan says sharply.

“Sir, I-”

“Fucking nothing, Mark. You had no business pulling that bullshit.”

“I said I was-”

“I don’t give a single fuck about whatever the fuck you said,” Jordan yells, slamming the table with his fist angrily. “You almost ruined my fucking reputation!”

Mark looks shocked; confused, even. “We fixed everything, it’s fine-”

Jordan walks over to Mark’s spot at the table, resting his elbows on it and looking him in the eye with a humorless laugh.

“Who runs this place? You or me?”

No reply.

“I asked you something. Who signs your fucking checks?” Jordan asks. “Look at me, who signs everyone’s fucking checks here?”

Mark swallows thickly. “You, sir.”

“Ex-fucking-actly, Mark, and if I’m the one who runs the show, then I’m also the one who takes the heat for every mistake that you and all of the other people that work for and/or with me make.”

“I know-”

“You know? You weren’t acting like you fucking knew last week- you know what? Get the fuck out, get the fuck out right now. Don’t come back, either,” Jordan shouts. He turns to everyone else in the meeting room, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “Anyone else want to fuck around? Please tell me now, because I won’t have the time to deal with the shit later.”

***

Jordan lays on a couch in an office that isn’t his. While he’s trying his best to relax, the effects from his meeting earlier in the day- he cancelled it, he was too stressed- and the chip that’s always on his fucking shoulder are keeping him tense and riled up.

“Introduce yourself, please,” Jordan’s therapist Richard says.

“You already know me, Ricky, I pay you way too much fucking money for you to not know me-”

“Jordan,” Richard warns, “Please.”

Jordan sighs tiredly. “My name is Jordan Ullman. I’m twenty-three years old, I run a multimillion dollar company, I’m always stressed, and I’m so pathetic, lonely, and fucking strange that I have to see a therapist regularly. I’m also positive my hairline is receding,” he drones.

“It’s not, I looked yesterday,” Jordan’s closest friend and right hand man Majid pipes up from outside the door.

“I’m only talking to Ricky right now!” Jordan sarcastically singsongs.

“Whatever!” Majid sings back.

“Talk to me, Jordan, what’s goin’ on this week?” Ricky asks casually.

Jordan groans. “This week? Let’s fucking talk about today. Remember how I told you about Mark last week? Well, he’s gone. I fired him. I feel shitty.”

“Don’t. You did what you had to do. That’s required for human beings, especially ones that run businesses,” Ricky says helpfully. “Care to talk about anything else?”

“Mother’s Day is in two weeks. Kinda don’t want to take my mom out to dinner because she’s gonna guilt trip me about not having a girlfriend, but the thing is, I’ve taken her out to dinner on that day every year since I was seventeen. I also feel shitty because I feel like I’m wrongfully judging her even though she’s asked me the same thing for as long as I can remember-” 

“Breathe,” Richard interrupts.

Jordan forces himself to stop what he’s doing and take a deep breath. “I just wish I could catch a break. I feel like I tell you that every time I’m here.”

“It’s okay that you feel that way, and I don’t mind you telling me so often. They’re your feelings, you have to live with them, and you’re making the smart decision to try and handle them,” Richard tells him.

“Thanks, Ricky. I think I’m gonna go now,” Jordan says, getting up with a sigh.

“Only half a session today?” Richard asks in disbelief.

“Yeah. See you next week,” Jordan waves and steps out of the room.

Jordan makes his way out of the building and Majid is right on his heels. 

“You smell-”

“Like lavender? Yeah, you tell me that every time I go to see Rick,” Jordan finishes. “His office smells like it.”

“Well, you smell great,” Majid says.

“You’re always smelling me after my therapy sessions,” Jordan says with a quiet laugh. “I’m gonna stop taking you.”

“It’s Ricky’s fault.”

Jordan gets in his car, a new Porsche with a fresh, custom paint job, and Majid follows suit.

“You feel any better, J?”

“I suppose.”

“That’s good, man.”

The car ride back to work is quiet; Jordan enjoys the silence and Majid has a hard time dealing with it because he loves to talk. Despite this fact, he still knows that Jordan needs silence just as much as he needs his constant talking and the warmth that comes with it.

Majid gets out and Jordan stays in the car. Majid leans down from where he stands on the curb.

Jordan rolls down the window.

“Takin’ the rest of the day off?” Majid asks knowingly.

“Yeah,” Jordan answers.

Majid nods and Jordan drives off, on the way to his too big, too empty house, where his mother undoubtedly believes he should have at least three kids, a nice wife, and a dog running around.

“Fuck,” Jordan breathes out miserably.


End file.
